Love In The First 39 Degrees
by Princess Sammi
Summary: When Constance comes down with the flu at the start of the holidays, Imogen volunteers to look after her.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch **

**Hey, folks. **

**I found this in my old files and decided to go back to working on it because I 've sort of lost EVERYTHING current from my memory stick!*sobs***

** Firstly: I myself have been fortunate enough to have never had the flu, so I apologise if my medical stuff isn't quite right. My knowledge essentially came from a bit of googling and from good ol' Wikipedia.;)**

** Secondly: My music of choice whilst writing my notes for this has been the 'Stronger' album, by Kelly Clarkson: 'Dark Side' & 'Standing In Front Of You' are especially, to me at least, very HB/Drill. **

**Thirdly: This fic is for typicalRAinbow, who has always been a lovely reviewer and an even lovelier friend. I can't promise I'll finish it dear, what with my track record, lol, but I shall aim to try. **

***blows a kiss***

**Hope you enjoy :)  
**

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**Love In The First 39 Degrees**

** Chapter 1**

"That sounds wonderful, Davina!" exclaimed the headmistress, as she finished off her cream slice and then surreptitiously looked at the plate, as if contemplating having another. "I do hope you have a lovely time." Her hand hovered over the plate of cakes as if fighting a battle with temptation; it was a battle temptation was quickly set to win. "What about you, Imogen?" Amelia Cackle enquired before taking a massive bite of cake, "do you have anything nice planned for over the summer holidays?"

"I'm off camping with Serge." She replied, hoping that her excitement had come across as believable and not too false.

Truthfully, she was not looking forward to it in the slightest.

Recently, things between her and Serge had started to change; arguments had become all the more frequent and all the little habits she had once found adorable now just irritated her. While people would most likely say it was only because the so-called 'honeymoon' period was now well and truly over, she knew it was more than that. In fact, she wasn't even sure whether she...

She was jolted from her thoughts as the door opened and in strode the deputy head, Constance Hardbroom. The woman had such an imposing presence that you could not help but not notice whenever she entered a room. It wasn't even strictly to do with her great height and instead was more to do with the power, which practically radiated from all around her, and the confidence she oozed in a seemingly effortless fashion.

Imogen noted, with some surprise, that confident and effortless fashion seemed to be taking that bit more effort than usual to carry off.

It was as if all her muscles were protesting under the strain of carrying her tiny weight and, despite the lengths, she was going to try to hide it, a flicker of exhaustion passed briefly across her features, as she sat down in her usual spot. She didn't know whether or not it was just the way the sunlight happened to be hitting that side of the room but she noticed that the older woman's complexion seemed slightly flushed and upon closer inspection, there was a slight look of glassiness to her brown eyes.

In fact, if the woman in question wasn't Constance Hardbroom, then Imogen would have sworn that she was coming down with something.

She jumped guiltily as the witch suddenly looked over in her direction and locked eyes with her own. Glassy or not, there was still one hell of a glare coming at her; as if she was daring the gym-mistress to make some comment.

Shrinking back under the gaze, Imogen quickly looked away, suddenly finding herself heavily engrossed in a picture she had never even noticed before, let alone bothered to look at.

"Constance?"

" Yes, Davina?"

"I said could you pass me the 'Witch Weekly' over please?" the chanting teacher asked again, as she gestured to the magazine lying on the table next to the potions mistress.

Lifting the magazine from the table, Constance stood up; wavering a little on her unsteady legs as she discreetly clutched the edge of the table for support. Not discreetly enough though.

"Are you alright, dear?" Amelia asked her, starting to become rather concerned for her deputy's well-being, as she noticed for the first time just how flushed the woman's porcelain skin seemed.

"Perfectly fine, headmistress", came the automatic and expected reply to the question.

Reluctantly, she uncurled her fingers from the table's edge, releasing her grip slowly, before standing to her full height. She had barely taken two steps forward when she felt the room spin; the corners of her world were quickly blackening.

The magazine fell from her grasp and landed with a thud as she collapsed on the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own The Worst Witch; more's the pity.**

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**Love In The First 39 Degrees**

**Chapter 2**

The door gently creaked open as she tiptoed into the room, mentally shushing the sound her trainers made as they bounced off the flagstone. Closing it over as quietly as she could, she stood for a minute, just watching the sleeping witch. It was a rare sight to see.

It occurred to Imogen that she had never seen what the woman looked like when she was asleep. She only ever saw her during the day, when she was stalking the corridors of the castle, usually scowling; her dark eyes boring into you like a laser, and she was surprised to notice , for the first time, just how breathtakingly beautiful the sleeping beauty truly was, even though she was suffering from a bad case of the flu.

Working in a busy close-contact environment as they did, there was always someone that was sick with one thing or another; usually it was one of the girls and occasionally it was one of the staff but in all the years she had been at the school she had never known it to be Constance Hardbroom. The woman seemed to have an iron-immune defence system.

Imogen didn't fail to spot the irony in her own thought.

She _**seemed**_ to have an iron-immune defence system because that is what she wanted you to believe. It was yet another piece of the mask that Constance used to conceal her true self: she had to be seen as strong and powerful; she didn't want to be seen as weak and she most certainly did not want pitied when at her most vulnerable.

She had to admit though she was more than a little surprised that it had seemingly thrown the witch off her feet as it had but had to agree that it did stand to reason because whilst Constance was great at looking out for and protecting others, when it came to her own well-being, she rarely followed her own advice. In fact, she never followed her own advice.

Rather than just admit to feeling unwell and taking a few days off for the necessary rest and recuperation, she chose to mask any discomfort she was suffering from with a concoction of potions and a feigned fineness. It was a short- term fix and, as soon as the effects of the potion had worn off, she was left feeling significantly worse than before. Not that she would ever admit to it.

Imogen was quite certain that had she not fainted in the staffroom the previous evening and been practically ordered to bed by a concerned Amelia, she would be doing exactly that now, and even though she had told them over and over again that she was 'perfectly fine'; it was apparent she was anything but...

It was a reminder that even Constance-the -all –powerful- witch-Hardbroom, wasn't quite as invincible as she tried very hardly to portray and, at the end of the day, she was indeed human. And tucked up under the bedcovers, yet still shivering as she coughed wildly in her sleep; the action wracking her whole body and her normally pale complexion flushed with a rising fever, that humanity looked so fragile; like a little china doll that Imogen just wanted to take in her arms and take care of.

She was so entranced that she had failed to notice the two glassy brown eyes that were now staring back at her as a voice broke into her thoughts.

"Are you planning on standing there like a Tussuads' waxwork all day, Miss Drill?"

There was no real energy in the delivery and there was certainly no disguising the hoarse whisper as the words croaked from her swollen throat; sending fresh waves of agony to it with every syllable spoken. It was such a far cry from her usually confident and dulcet tones but she point-blank refused to be seen in any more vulnerable a state than the one she was currently in, so was putting on a front, namely with her sharp tongue.

"Uh...no, no. I brought you some tea, honey."

The words had tumbled out of her mouth before she could even realise what she had said and unable to take them back, she faltered, momentarily looking to the exhausted brown eyes before attempting to dig herself out of the hole she was close to falling into.

"Tea with honey-I mean I've brought you some honey-flavoured tea...you know to try help to soothe your throat and stuff..."

She could hear the words coming out of her own mouth and her brains will for her to stop talking.

_'For the love of god Imogen... shut up...just shut up!'_

The last thing Constance wanted was fuss. She absolutely hated anyone witnessing her in such a state of weakness, much preferring instead to just suffer in silence, rather than be a burden to anyone else, but even she could not deny that anything that could potentially ease the aching of her throat was a welcome relief. The rawness of it was so acute it was like having swallowed a bunch of razor blades.

"Th-ank you."

Unsure of what else to say, Imogen quietly crossed the room and carefully placed the cup and saucer on the bedside table. Her mind was still reeling as she replayed her words from just moments before.

_'Honey'_

She had just referred to Constance Hardroom-of all people- as 'honey'.

Yet...she was still alive.

_'Had the witch not heard the slip of the tongue? ... Or was she simply choosing to ignore it, with not having the energy to do any reprimanding?'  
_

"You're welcome." She finally said, flashing a smile. She received a weak one back in return, but it was there nonetheless and she felt her heart skip a beat. She couldn't remember the last time her heart at done that at one of Serge's smiles.

"So," She hesitated for a moment as she racked her brain for something to say.

She and Constance had never really conversed before on anything out with the girls' education and, even then, it was mostly just bickering and a constant clash of opinions. "How are you feeling then?" she asked, eventually ending the sentence and immediately wanting to mentally kick herself for asking such a stupid question.

_'How are you feeling then? You idiot! Way to state the blooming obvious! Next thing you'll be talking about the weather.'_

"As I told Amelia, I was and still am perfectly fine, and this whole charade is-", she broke off as an unexpected coughing fit, as if on cue, caught in the back of her throat, wracking her whole body; it was agony. It felt as if her lungs were on fire but she remained impassive, continuing after it passed, "-not only unnecessary but also a complete waste of my time!" Her dark eyes stared into Imogen's green ones, but the infamous 'Hardbroom' glare was replaced with glassiness and exhaustion, so it wasn't nearly as effective as normal.

They both knew she was fighting a losing battle.

"Just because the term is over it doesn't mean I haven't other work to do not too mention planning next terms work – it doesn't just fall out of the sky you know?!"

"I know, bu-"

"What are you even doing here anyway? I thought you were off camping with that Neanderthal you call a boyfriend."

Imogen bit down on her tongue trying to prevent herself from saying something she might regret. "I was- I mean I am. We're going next week instead now and since Amelia had to urgently go and visit her Aunt Gertrude, I guess I drew the short straw in looking after you." She joked.

"I see."

The words were barely audible and her voice slightly cracked as she said them. Imogen couldn't tell whether it was from the flu or from emotion.

"You can leave now, Miss Drill."

"B-"

"And just for future reference, I do not need 'looking after.' I have told you already, I'm fine."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch.**

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews :)**

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**Love In The First 39 Degrees**

**Chaper 3**

As soon as the door had closed, she slumped, letting her true exhaustive state be known for mere minutes, before she pushed herself up, ignoring the ache all over her body with sheer will power, as she reached for the glass of water and packet of paracetamol, grimacing slightly as she swallowed two of the tablets.

If she were to be completely honest then she felt like hell and, judging by the brief glimpse she had caught of her reflection earlier in the day, she looked like it too.

She had woken up with a slight scratch in her throat a day or so ago and, since then, had began to feel progressively worse as the day had gone. She had already woken up on her bathroom floor, with little recollection as to how she had ended up there, and stayed there for as long; the cold tiles providing a welcome relief from the fever that was firing through her veins, like a mother soothing the brow of their sick child. Despite feeling, as Enid Nightshade had once put it-and earned herself a severe reprimanding-like 'complete shit', she had managed to drag herself up and pushed on, knowing she was eventually going to fall but wanting to prolong it for as long as possible and preferably wait until her colleagues had departed and the school was completely empty before it happened. As always though, luck had not been on her side and now, on top of feeling completely drained of energy, she was mightily embarrassed. The only saving grace-and even that was minor- was it was the holidays and not during the school term.

As much as could have complained, she knew that she wouldn't; it simply wasn't in her nature. She never had been one to scream and wail about how the unfairness of it all. Life wasn't fair; it was the only real certainty of it. To her horror though, she could feel the build up of hot salty tears as they stung the back of her eyes.

* * *

As soon as she closed the door behind her, Imogen could have sworn she heard the faint sounds of sobbing coming from the other side and if she hadn't felt bad before she sure did now. Her hand hovered over the door handle and she considered going back into the room but in the end she decided against it, figuring the witch would want a bit of space, before she checked on her again in a few hours time.

However weird the situation was for her, she knew it was ten times worse for Constance, and it wasn't really the 'being ill'; it was the stigma that was attached to it. Constance Hardbroom was an incredibly proud woman and Imogen knew that for her to have no choice but to accept help had wounded her pride. Imogen had always been told it was okay to ask for help, and that it wasn't a sign of weakness but somewhere down the line the complete opposite had obviously been drummed into Constance' s brain.

Making her way through the school, she noted how quiet it was without the students. It was too quiet. In fact, it was eerie and rather unnerving and she was left feeling as if somebody could jump out on her at any moment. Imogen seriously hoped that no one did have any plans of attempting to ambush the castle in the next few days: Amelia wasn't there, poor Constance wasn't in a fit state to do anything, and she herself was unable to do any magic and defend herself. Sure, she knew a bit of martial arts, but that would hardly keep a bunch of wicked witches at bay for long.

Shaking the thought from her head, as quickly as she could, she entered the staffroom and after sorting herself a quick snack, sat down at the table. Absentmindedly picking up a old copy of 'Witch Weekly' that somebody, presumably Davina, judging by the odd rose petal found in between the pages, had left behind and having a quick flick through, deciding once she was done that in future she would just stick to her sport magazines.

Reaching into her tracksuit pocket, she retrieved her mobile phone and nervously waited as it took its time to power up but, eventually, the small screen lit up and all her icons started to appear. She waited and waited...

...no messages.

Not one.

It was clear then: Serge still wasn't talking to her.

She sighed as she recalled the final part of their phone conversation in the late hours of last night.

* * *

_** "What's the problem? You cancelled our date a few months back when Steve's wife left him?"**_

_** "Yeah, he's a mate."**_

_** "Well so is Constance – well she's more of a colleague...sort of friend...**_

_** "Yeah, but the difference is Imogen, I'm not in love with Steve."**_

_** Silence.**_

_** "...that's what I thought."**_

_** "I-I –I –I can't keep having this same conversation with you."**_

_** "Whatever, I'll call you later."**_

* * *

With that, he had hung up. She sat in shock for a good while after that. Never had she known him to be so abrupt with her before, even going as far as to call her Imogen, rather than using his pet name for her. As a Canadian he was usually so pleasant and mild-mannered but there hadn't been a trace of that in his voice. She didn't understand why he was still getting at this; he just wouldn't let it drop and it had, in fact, been the source of arguments with them for months now, many a romantic night for two ending in her drowning her sorrows in a bottle of red wine.

In love with Constance Hardbroom?

It was an absurd notion!

She suddenly had a flash of memory from earlier in the morning, when the witch had smiled at her, and how her heart had fluttered in response.

...Wasn't it?

* * *

Upon receiving no reply after knocking, she very tentatively opened the door and entered the room. The witch was awake and Imogen could tell from the dried in tracks on her cheeks that she had indeed been crying, confirming her earlier suspicions. She decided not to make any remark about it but it was a strange sight to see. Never, in all the years, she had been at the academy, had she seen Constance Hardbroom cry. She had only ever seen her, with what could be classed as remotely close to tears once before: when they had heard the name of the school inspector.

"I'm sorry..about earlier; I shouldn't have-"

Constance lifted her arm a few inches and put her hand out to silence Imogen. "Just forget about it, it's fine."

The beads of sweat glistened in light of day and before Constance could stop her or she could even stop herself she was over at the bedside of the witch, her hand ready to place her palm on her forehead. Constance instantly pulled away. It hurt but it was to be expected - she didn't like people invading her space, but it was a moment too soon as the sudden movement instantly sent a searing pain through her already pounding head, forcing her grit her teeth and lie still, until it had subsided. She felt her cheeks flush as Imogen's fingers had come into contact with her skin.

"You're still burning up."

"Yes, thank you, Doctor." She remarked sarcastically.

"Do you plan on being like this the whole time?"

"I don't do being 'sick', Miss Drill."

Imogen couldn't help the small smile that graced her lips. "Ah, so now you admit you're sick then? Since despite fainting yesterday, you still proclaimed, only a few hours ago in fact, that you were, and I quote, 'perfectly fine.'"

Constance mentally cursed as she fixed the non-witch with a tired glare. She had walked into that one, well and truly. "Yes, well..."

She no longer even had the energy to finish a sentence, let alone think of some witty comeback, so she just trailed off into silence. She could feel the oncoming exhaustion as it threatened to envelop her once more, knowing she was powerless to avoid the need for sleep; she tried to fight against it but as the seconds passed the heaviness of her eyelids grew, the long lashes fluttering gently several times before closing.

Imogen smiled and reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair across her face behind her ear. Taking the flannel she dipped it into the basin before gently dabbing at the porcelain forehead in an attempt to try bring the fever down and relieve Constance from at least some of her discomfort. A slight moan came from her left as the witch attempted to pull away, before deciding against it.

Even in her exhausted, delirious and sick- induced state, Constance wasn't set to get any respite.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch**

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys :) **

**I am going to try to update with the latest chapter of 'Goodbye Kiss' and 'I Thought I'd Come So Far' in the next few weeks. In theory… ;) **

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**Love In The First 39 Degrees**

**Chapter 4**

She didn't know why she was crying, but for some reason she couldn't stop. It made her feel vulnerable; exposed, even though there was nobody there to witness it. She hated being ill, it clouded her mind and left her unable to think logically, toying with her emotional state like a cat playing with a mouse.

The last time she had felt this bad, had been back in witch training college. She had been incredibly ill with a flu, just like this one, feeling so weak that even standing was a seemingly near impossible effort and all she had wanted was to pass out on the spot and to rest her aching limbs. Her head was pounding and the thought of sleep had never seemed like a more welcome notion. A notion was all it was to be though as Heckitty Broomhead hadn't been the least bit sympathetic.

In fact, she had made her practice her materialisation technique for eight solid hours.

_"How do you ever expect to be a great witch if you can't even fight off a little cold, Constance?"_

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**_She didn't know at what point she had finally passed out, her body physically unable to withstand anymore, but when she had eventually came round in the cold, dark dungeon of a bedroom she was forced to reside in, her whole world was spinning. A series of hazy and grey images flickering before her eyes as her exhausted mind struggled to piece together the puzzle and process what had actually transpired. It was too much of an effort._**

**_She winced as she moved her hand less than an inch across the floor, her every nerve-ending and muscles protesting against such a small movement. Pushing past the pain, knowing she needed help, she moved her hand an inch further, and instantly felt her fingers come into contact with a sticky substance._**

**_Blood._**

* * *

Wearily waving her hand, she summoned over the cup of tea the gym-mistress had brought her, despite knowing she really shouldn't be using her magic with the state she was in. As if confirming it for her, she instantly felt a wave of fatigue wash over her entire body, and closed her eyes gently for a few moments until it had passed: she couldn't remember the last time she had felt so tired. Taking a sip she felt the syrupiness of the honey slide down as it gently eased the rawness in her throat.

This situation was more or less her own doing.

She never had been great at taking care of her own well-being and growing up, other than the nanny, she had never really had anyone to do it for her.

The constant lack of sleep she suffered from did nothing to help matters and over the years, her insomnia had only worsened, if anything. Her insomnia was driven by her fear; it wasn't that she didn't want to sleep, there had been times, and indeed there still were, where she'd just wanted to curl up in her exhaustion and shut the world out for a few hours. It was that she was too afraid too.

If anyone were to find that out, ever, then they would find it ridiculous, and perhaps even laughable, that the formidable potions mistress was afraid. That the woman, who could reduce any of her students to a gibbering heap before her with a simple look, was too scared to shut her eyes and to relinquish control on her world for even a second.

Every single time she closed her eyes she was haunted beyond belief by nightmares of a past she had unsuccessfully tried to bury, repeatedly, but to no avail, it would just resurface; time and time again. Every time she thought she was safe, every time she felt like she was finally moving forwards, there it would be, slamming into her; reminding her that there was no escape.

Not then.

Not now.

Not ever.

Basking in satisfaction as it dragged her into the depths of hell, memories circling her mind like a pack of vultures that had swooped down and were ready to tear their prey apart before devouring them.

The laugh.

There was always a laugh. A cold, calculated laugh; one devoid of emotion, devoid of feeling, a maniacal tune of triumph echoing in her ears as she tossed and turned, trying to block it out.

The discovery of Wide Awake Potion, years ago now, had been her saviour. As if being sent from above it could grant her peace of mind and salvation. Not only did it stop the torment of her nightmares, it prevented them altogether because, by taking it, she could eliminate the need for sleep. Of course, like many substances, it would only sustain her for so long.

On their own, the properties of the potion were considered relatively harmless but coupled together and they could be dangerous, addictive and potentially life threatening. For all her stances she held on rule breaking, surprisingly, she found that she didn't care: it was better than the alternative. For everybody's sake.

She didn't fear the addiction; it was too late to start worrying about it. She was long past the stage of addiction and over time, the toxins from the potion had begun to seep into her system and were now slowly poisoning her from within. She feared the day it stopped working because there was always the possibility: the more anything is used, the more the body becomes able to tolerate it, and as a result, its effectiveness lessens.

Wide Awake Potion was the only thing that was stopping her from falling off the cliff, and for so long she had been holding onto the precipice, her grip gradually starting to loosen and slip away. If it ever stopped working, she was done for.

She secretly hoped the potion would kill her long before the day ever came.

* * *

There was a gentle knock at the door and she knew that Imogen was outside again.

"Constance?"

She didn't answer; hoping the blonde would just go away and leave her alone.

It was the indignity of it all!

She had told them she didn't need a glorified babysitter, but Amelia was having none of it, telling her she wouldn't feel right leaving her on her own in case something happened. Constance knew, touching as that was, it formed only part of the reason. The other part being that she wasn't trusted to **_actually_** rest and recuperate. Though she was rather annoyed, given her workaholic tendencies, she couldn't fully blame them for appointing someone to keep watch.

Amelia?

Yes.

Davina?

…At a push.

Though it would no doubt increase the pain in her head ten-fold, especially if the chanting teacher attempted to sing the self-composed lullaby she had overheard her singing to some of the students, when they were ill.

But Imogen?

...

She couldn't help but wonder why the gym-mistress was here in the first place. If she had been Imogen and it had been a choice between going camping with her boyfriend or staying at the school and looking after a woman, she crossed swords with on a regular basis, she knew which she would choose, and it certainly was not the latter of the two.

She didn't know why her and Imogen didn't get along: they both wanted the best for the school and for the girls but she supposed that they were just too different to see eye-to-eye about anything. Different upbringings and different experiences had helped to shape them into who they were now. She would never admit it aloud, ever, but she sometimes envied the non-witch: her constantly sunny personality, her optimism, and the way she could talk to someone she didn't know and within 5 minutes it was like they had been best friends for years.

For all the great power and qualifications Constance had, she was lacking in that particular skill. She suspected that at school Imogen would have been the girl whom everyone wanted to be best friends. She would have been the one inventing all the playground games and encouraging them all to join in, whereas she had been the girl, who had sat alone with a book, pretending to read it, while trying to ignore the whispering behind her back coming from the other girls, as the tears streamed silently down her cheeks.

'Perfectly fine'

Who was she trying to kid?

Even without the blasted flu she was still so far removed from 'fine' that it wasn' t true.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch. This chapter also took inspiration from: 2 Broke Girls, Matilda, Tangled and Bad Girls, so I don't own any of them either.**

**A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews. Things get a little darker in this chapter. I blame my keyboard. LOL! **

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**Love In The First 39 Degrees**

**Chapter 5**

Placing the cloth in the water basin, she was slightly unsure of what to do next. She had never been in the chambers of the potions mistress before and she couldn't help but feel like a naughty child, sneaking into a forbidden domain: one who was about to be caught and severely reprimanded for her actions. Despite this feeling, she could not help the curiosity that overtook her as she cast her eyes cautiously about the room, drinking in its every detail. Not that there was much to see.

All the rooms at Cackles were the same, though the teachers were granted a little more luxury than their pupils were, with their chamber containing not only a bedroom but also an en-suite bathroom and a small sitting room. Imogen hadn't known what she'd expected to find but Constance' room was exactly as she had always imagined it to be: a place for everything and everything in its place. It was such a contrast to her own room, but while her own felt lived in, there was a certain air of emptiness in the room of the potions mistress. And it wasn't just down to the lack of possessions out on display.

She turned her attention to the impressive bookshelf, the only real thing in the room that marked it as belonging to anybody, her eyes widening in awe as she glanced at title after title – half of which she could barely pronounce, let alone even imagine understanding. Towards the end of the shelf, near the bottom, the magic theory tailed off and there were a few of what Imogen would call the "classics" – including the book she herself had given the sorceress a couple of years ago as a Christmas gift. Picking it up, she took the chair from the desk and brought it over to the bed, settling herself down with the intention of reading. As she did so, something fell out from between the pages.

Bending down to pick it up, she saw it was an old photograph and upon closer inspection, she recognised it to be a photograph of a young Constance – there was no mistaking it. Even at 4 years old (she hazarded a guess) Constance had that trademark stare down to a fine art as she gazed into the camera, her wide grin displaying true child happiness. In the picture with her was a woman, whom Imogen presumed was her mother, noting the more than striking similarities the two beauties possessed.

Gazing at it for a few moments longer, she couldn't help but smile at how adorable the deputy once was. She knew Constance would obliterate her if she heard the "A" word, especially in regards to herself but she couldn't help it.

There was a slight moan from her left, causing her to jump guilty, though perhaps a little too prematurely. In fact, the moan had been so quiet; she wondered whether she had actually imagined it because when she glanced over Constance appeared to be sleeping soundly.

She turned her attention back to the book, missing the lone tear that trickled from the deputy's eye.

Tucking the photograph back inside the book, feeling more than a tad guilty for invading the privacy of the potions mistress, she soon found herself engrossed in the realms of the story. It had been years since she had last read it but now it was all coming flooding back to her: the white rabbit, the magic potions, the Mad Hatter's tea party…

Soon, she was lost in a fantasy. Until she was sharply brought back to reality when a hoarse scream shattered the silence of the room.

* * *

Her already tired eyes felt heavy; so very heavy. It was as if they were weighed down by a ton of bricks and the effort to keep them open required more energy than she currently possessed. Still, she fought against the onset of unconsciousness, her fear overriding any rational though telling her she need sleep to aid her recovery. She couldn't give into it. The minute she closed her eyes on the outside world, she lost all control. She wouldn''t be able to stop the nightmares from rearing their ugly head as they encircled her in her sleep-cocooned state.

She would simply be a mere spectator, forced to stand by and watch as the sorry tale of her life played out in front of her again and again. The little light that had once been there turning to darkness, blocked out by the dark clouds that rolled overhead.

Abandoned.

Neglected.

Mistreated.

Forced to stand by and watch, knowing full well she couldn't stop it nor change it.

Fear put up a strong fight but exhaustion was to win the battle.

* * *

**_"Alright, there we go. Snug as a bug in a rug." Vivienne cooed as she tucked her four year old daughter into bed for the night._**

**_"Don't forget Brambles, mummy." She gestured to the brown teddy bear she was holding."_**

**_"And Brambles too, of course." She responded. Placating her daughter by giving the bear a kiss on his forehead to emphasis she was sorry. _**

**_"Better?"_**

**_Constance nodded, grinning happily._**

**_"Good." Her mother smiled back at her. _**

**_"Can I have a bedtime story, mummy?" _**

**_"You can indeed, poppet. I thought you might want to hear mummy's favourite story from when she was a little girl. _**

**_In her hand, she brandished a copy of 'Alice's Adventures In Wonderland' by Lewis Carroll._**

* * *

An involuntary smile flashed across her face. She hadn't dreamt about her mother in a long time; it was bittersweet.

* * *

**_"Please, Johnathan, don't let her do this." _**

**_The woman begged. Mascara trailing down her cheeks as she attempted to appeal to her husband's better nature. "I swear it'll never happen again." _**

**_He looked into her wife's eyes, desperately trying to find even a trace of the woman he married all those years ago, but there was nothing left. She had tainted their marriage; she had broken that sacred bond. The first time, he had forgiven her, the second time too, but enough was enough. The trust was gone and without trust then they really had nothing. No foundations on which to build the rest of their life together and yet… he couldn't help but feel partly responsible. Wondering if he had spent less time in the office, trying to make his fortune and more time at home with his wife and daughter, then she wouldn't have felt neglected and found solace in the arms of someone else. _**

**_His expression softened, his instant anger dissipating leaving a sense of regret in its place._**

**_"…And the Oscar goes to-"_**

**_"Mother!"_**

**_He opened his mouth to continue but the sentence never was completed, his eyes shifted to the ground as he looked at his feet, shuffling them nervously. "She's right, Viv. I think it's best you go."_**

**_"But- b-b-, what about Constance? You can't take her away from me, I won't let you... I'm her mother... "_**

**_"Well maybe you should have thought about that before you dropped your knickers." Cecilia Hardbroom retorted back. She was a formidable woman and conniving when it came to protecting the interest of her family. In society, she was highly regarded and as statuses went, she was classed as Queen Bee. One word from Cecilia Hardbroom could instantly see you ousted from society. _**

**_"I bet you are loving this. You've never thought I was good enough for your precious son!" _**

**_And I was right. I had you pegged the minute I first laid eyes on you. Gold digger." _**

**_"And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?_**

**_"How dare you! Just you remember who you talking to, Vivienne…" _**

**_"That's right, becau-"_**

**_A seven-year-old girl sat halfway up the stairs, clutching onto an old but well-loved teddy bear with her hands clamped over her ears as tears ran silently down her cheeks. She didn't understand what was happening but she just wished they would stop shouting. They had been shouting for hours now. Bad words had been screamed, dishes had been thrown, and a lot of crying had been done. Then, after her Grandmother had turned up, things only got worse. _**

**_A small sniff halted the adults in their tracks as they looked over, spotting the dark brown eyes through the gaps between the staircase. They had forgotten about the little girl. _**

**_"Connie, sweetie, why don't you go and play upstairs? There's a good girl." _**

**_ "I want to play with mummy." She whispered sadly into the fur of her teddy bear. The request was so innocent it could have broken a heart of stone. _**

**_"I'll be up soon, Princess. Now come and give me a kiss."_**

**_She jumped up from the stairs and ran, practically leaping into her mother's arms, the two of them enveloping each other in a bear hug. "I love you, Connie."_**

**_"I love you more, mummy"_**

**_"I love you most, my darling."_**

**_"Will you really come and play, mummy?"_**

**_"I promise." _**

**_Wheeling her suitcase down the garden path, Vivienne took one last long back at her home, her eyes meeting those of her only daughter who was watching her from her bedroom window, her tiny hands pawing at the glass as she tried reaching out to her._**

**_"I'm sorry," Vivienne mouthed, her tears mirroring her child's. She held the gaze for a few moments longer, drinking in every inch of her child, before she broke the gaze and her heart by walking out of her daughter's life forever._**

* * *

A lone tear fought its way free from her closed eyes, trickling down her cheek and onto the satin of the pillows.

* * *

_**Her tutor's grip was vice-like. Her sharp nails digging deep into the wrist, an unnecessary applied pressure piercing the flesh and breaking the youthful skin, leaving a mark. Her expression was like stone, the only sign of life shown in the madness that danced in her eyes. Dragging the girl along the corridor, she ignored the garbled protests of innocence and stuttered apologies. It was too late. **_

_**A lesson had to be learned.**_

_**Entering her office, she reached for her set of keys, snatching them up from off the desk with one hand while the other continued to hold the girl, stopping her from running off. In actual fact, it was probably the only thing stopping the girls shaking limbs from completely giving out on her and sending her crashing onto the flagstone, her eyes widening in terror as she realised where this was headed.**_

_**The punishment closet.**_

_**The punishment closet took pride of place in Heckitty's office.**_

_**Situated in a dimly lit corner of the room, it was a tall and narrow cupboard, with a heavy iron door. Barely 10" each way, it gave the unlucky victim the unsettling feeling of being buried alive, as they were forced to reside in the small, dark, hot and sticky coffin-like space, until Heckitty found the morsel of humanity in her and granted them their freedom. Sometimes you could be in there for days.**_

_**"In." She growled, her eyes flicking from the girl to the closet and back again.**_

_**The girl didn't move. Her feet were practically rooted to the spot in utter terror.**_

_**"I'm sorry, did you not hear me the first time? In. Now!"**_

_**Still the girl didn't move. Her whole frame was shaking beyond her control and her watery eyes silently begging with her tutor; pleading.**_

_**"I said, "she grabbed for her wrist again "in, now!" before pulling the terrified girl forward and pushing her into the closet with such a force that the girl winded herself on impact, doubling over in agony.**_

_**Making use of the lapse in concentration, Heckitty slammed the door shut tight before turning the key in the lock. Locking her in and leaving her to her fate.**_

_**"Oh, and Constance? I wouldn't bother screaming, if I were you; you might want to save on the oxygen."**_

_**She cackled loudly, a laugh that wouldn't look out of place in the depths of hell.**_

_**The clicking of her heels grew more and more distant until, eventually, it stopped altogether and a silence befell her. With that, Constance knew that she wasn't coming back for a long time and was all too quickly beginning to face up to her predicament.**_

_**She was trapped.**_

_**Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she slowly opened them again, hoping against hope that this had been nothing but a horrible nightmare and she would soon wake to find herself in her bed at WTC, but when she opened her eyes, nothing had changed. All she could see was darkness.**_

_**She was doing her best to keep calm, knowing it would only make things worse, but there was spike in her heartbeat as absolute terror kicked in.**_

_**She was going to die in here.**_

_**In the dark and all alone.**_

_**Feeling her way around the space she could feel nothing but the four walls that surrounded her, encasing her in her tomb. Desperately she scratched at them, frantically trying to claw her way free, ripping her fingernails to shreds in the process, before realising that her attempts were in vain.**_

_**There was no way out.**_

_**She tried to breathe steadily but her heart rate was going too fast, each breath she took becoming more strained than the last as they came in short shallow gasps for air.**_

_**There was no hope.**_

_**"LET ME OUT!"**_

_**This was it.**_

_**"HELP ME. PLEASE!"**_

_**Her torn fingernails ran down the door as she fell forward, her eyelashes fluttering as they began to succumb to the enveloping darkness.**_

_**"Help me, please."**_

_**"Somebody."**_

_**"…anybody."**_


End file.
